


Blue stars are pouring from the skies

by Idontknownothing



Category: GOT7
Genre: Ambiguity, Canon Compliant, Extended Metaphors, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idontknownothing/pseuds/Idontknownothing
Summary: Something like rain.
Relationships: Park Jinyoung/Jackson Wang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Blue stars are pouring from the skies

**Author's Note:**

> *references to the weekly idol episode for NBTM promotions. 
> 
> Just some wgpg feels, nothing much really. hurhur.  
> loosely based on the lyrics of Love You Better – Got7.

\----

_“What do you really want?”_

There’s nothing quite like the sound of rain filling up the room.

A small gap in the window, left open, has the curtains flapping about wildly from a sudden gust of strong wind. Then, a blinding flash illuminates the skies in the same instant. As if summoning a sudden, heavy downpour that floods the empty streets outside. It shimmers like stardust under the pale white of the streetlights. Dancing for itself and no one else.

The ledges of the window begin to pool, spilling over to trail down the walls, down to the corners of the tiled floors. The knocks against the window increase in intensity with every passing second and his ears absorb every reverberation, pounding deep within his chest. His body’s starting to shiver from the unrelenting wind. An abrupt assault, precipitous on an unusually cold, late spring night. But even then, he doesn’t get up to close the window.

Because there’s something else sending a shiver through his skin, warming up against his ear. A static breath. It’s almost quiet. It’s peaceful. A constant rhythm.

It’s asleep.

He listens to it like it’s a song, eyes closed in, as if in meditation.

Until he begins to feel a patter against his cheeks. That’s when he hangs up the phone, finally getting up to seal the gap shut.

Ignoring the frigid sting from the unusual porcelain tiled floors that shoots through the soles of his bare feet, Jinyoung remains by the window. Staring still, through the cascade distorting the view outside. Each hit of rain, bursting defiantly against the glass.

He draws the curtains to a close, an incandescent orange glow settling over his room from the sole light source left, his bedside lamp. His phone sits by it. Smudged with an oily print of skin pressed deep against it.

_-_

When they’re in between takes and the crew’s changing tapes, it’s the usual ho hum. Kwanghee’s fawning over Jaebeom, who’s let himself go, much to everyone’s amusement. 

He’s all the better for it, Yugyeom who’s by his side, observes.

The younger of the two lets out a blessed sneeze shortly after that thought.

The rest are milling about the studio. Youngjae’s spaced out at the far end of the white draped set, absentmindedly tailing Bambam and Mark who are teasing each other with light jokes about something in the car just now.

The other two remain on the equally pure white stool blocks, seated as they were during the shoot, sinking deep into a conversation.

“You guys are pretty close huh.”, Eunhyuk remarks casually as he hovers close by, flashing an affable smile despite being worn out from the endless hours of taping he’s been having days on end now.

“Jackson Jinyoung talkshow.”, Mark chimes in, walking over with the rest as they gather around naturally where the chatter starts.

“We just understand each other.” Jackson obliges the smile with an ease and friendliness that’s always come naturally to him.

“We don't all understand each other ?”, Bambam says jokingly, complete with a dramatic hand to his chest.

But Jackson takes it to heart.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Jackson replies softly, growing uneasy at the expectant looks the other members are giving.

Maybe perhaps, expecting a joke or a light quip. That was probably what he’d do under normal circumstances. He’s sharp, quick witted. He’s Jackson Wang, the one with the funny jokes.

And it should be. It’s a normal shoot, as it were on any other day after all.

Yet, for some reason, the circumstances don’t seem normal. A sudden attention, keen eyes on them both. Everyone else standing, towering over, it’s unsettling.

Because something’s not normal.

And he’s suddenly profoundly aware of it.

“But we also um, we want the same things?”, he stutters out, fluttering his eyes as if it might ease the sudden jam in his brain.

Jinyoung turns in his seat, a steady hand resting on crossed legs, a dignified elbow crooked out. He eyes Jackson, with an obvious surprise.

“We do?”, he raises a brow, tone composed and maybe slightly amused. Because they’re not quite similar. Not on the surface at least.

“Yeah. I mean you know, we wanted a house with a nice big garden when we're settled down, like married and uh, have kids...we both said we'd want to have a son, right?”, he continues, his voice growing small and uncertain. A little forced, painfully, painfully aware. Of something he’s trying to reason out. No, something he feels compelled to. _But he's really just overcompensating, isn't he?_

He throws Jinyoung a quick glance. Jinyoung's quiet. Doesn't say a word to that. But that isn't unusual at all. So no one notices the way his steady hand's started gripping into his thigh.

“Hyung, isn’t that what everyone wants?”, Bambam laughs.

“Not really.” Youngjae adds quietly with a thoughtful look. Bambam shrugs out a nod.

Eunhyuk nods along with a small chuckle and an “I see.”, filling in the awkward beat of silence.

The atmosphere’s not tense, but it’s not quite pleasant either. So, Mark and Eunhyuk begin to engage in meaningless small talk that leads to the topic of ramen instead. Bambam listens in and remarks about something utterly unremarkable, while Youngjae tunes out again.

It’s a little too late, but Jackson recalls something. Though no one’s really paying attention anymore. No one’s really listening.

“We both want a turtle.”, Jackson still adds guilelessly, for himself, and no one else. He has on a light grin, as he turns to Jinyoung.

Jinyoung’s still staring at him. Still doesn’t say anything back. With the same straight face, expression unchanging. 

There’s also this one thing.

But it’s something they don’t talk about.

It doesn’t happen too often.

But it happens.

It’s strange how they can talk about everything, even their darkest thoughts. But they can never voice out what this means to them. Whatever this is.

The things that they dedicated their whole lives for. Their fans, their careers. Their dreams.

What were those dreams?

What did it all mean then? Was it the same now?

_For what was it all worth?_

Maybe it’s not that strange after all.

-

_“It’s been a while since we showered together.”, Jackson jokes lightly._

_“Why would we?”, Jinyoung scoffs. “We don’t live together anymore.”_

_“That’s true.”_

Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s the proximity.

_“Here?”_

_“Mhm...yeah.”_

It starts with a stray touch.

Nothing too suggestive.

It’s innocent enough.

“Why would you say that?”, Jackson frowns at him. But Jinyoung just laughs it off as Jackson reaches for the remote control to switch the channel.

“Well, it’s not a lie.”, Jinyoung chuckles. The canned laughter from the audience muffles through the tv speakers as Jackson reduces the volume. It’s a rerun of an older variety show. It was popular. But for some reason it got cancelled prematurely.

“But it’s not the truth isn’t it?”, Jackson argues, wondering why it was.

“Jackson, it’s not that serious.” Jinyoung says in a voice smooth and low, sweet and utterly annoying. He slowly flips a yellowed page of the worn paperback for the first time since he opened it, half an hour ago.

“That’s...”, Jackson sulks. “…that’s not the point.”, he mumbles out, patting around for his phone that’s slipped between the cushions.

“Do you have a schedule tomorrow?”, he changes the subject, pushing himself of the couch with a sigh. His slippers drag against the polished wood, shuffling to a halt when he abandons the phone once more. Left on the kitchen counter right by the fridge.

Right by the trash bin stuffed with takeout boxes from a nearby pizza place.

“Uh, yes. Our rehearsal?”, Jinyoung states patronisingly.

Jackson rolls his eyes, pulling open the fridge door, enduring the outburst of cool air prickling his skin with a knit in his brows.

“I meant your own. Do you have a shoot or anything?”, he looks into the fridge for something. But there’s nothing he wants. There wasn’t really a reason why he’d open it in the first place, actually. He just did.

“I don’t.” Jinyoung just smiles into his book.

“Then why don’t you just stay? It’s late. We could just head over for practice together tomorrow.”

A pause. Then a sigh. It’s airy, light.

“Yeah. I'll stay.”

_“I want…”_

They don’t talk about it after. The don’t talk about it before. They don’t talk about it at all.

_“What are you doing?”_

_“So, I’m saying, let’s just shower together. It’s faster. More time to sleep.”, he insists, taking Jinyoung’s questioning hum as a yes and nothing else._

He doesn’t really know when it began. The memories seem to fumble into each other. What happened first, what happened after. But he remembers the sensations with a clarity that aches. So vividly, weighing heavy in his chest. He wonders if it’s the same for Jinyoung too. It seemed natural at the time. Like the inevitable rustle of leaves shaken up by a stray wind.

Jinyoung’s lips softly buried into his neck, their hands slipping clumsily along the slick of soap lathered skin. Jackson’s back flushed against his chest, bracing himself as he presses his palms up into the tiled walls.

_“Is there something bothering you?”, his tone is hushed, distorted by the speaker._

Jinyoung’s hands are cold.

_“Nothing. I just want us to do well. Have successful careers and have a good life.”, but it’s clear._

But it burns when it slips in. It burns deep.

_“Is that it?”, smooth and low through the crackle of the line._

When Jinyoung groans into his ear, unrestrained like Jackson’s never heard anywhere else.

_“I want…”_

And he reaches back for a desperate grip onto the man’s hip, for a shred of sanity that still remains.

_“Just tell me.”_

When Jinyoung nudges into someplace delicate.

_“I want…”_

And he lets out a gasp.

_“What do you want?”_

“Ahh…there, _Jinyoung_.”

“Here?”

“Y-yeah.”

Only when its pouring, raining down on them both.

_What do you really want?_

The thoughts fumble into each other, always settled at the very back of his head. Always present. Maybe someday, he’d look back and think about how distant it all was. Maybe, he’d look back with regret.

Some part of him, buried in those thoughts, simmers with a faint hope, still barely there only because he can't contain it. Because he can't really yet admit it.

There are days he'd think about what lies ahead. 

For now, the brown of his curtains is all he sees.

The door clicks shut.

“Hey. You alright?”, Jinyoung asks, slipping under the duvet, voice thin as he drawls out his limbs into a long stretch that wrings a faint tremble in his body.

“Yeah.”, Jackson reassures him with a small grin. He shuffles to lay on his side, back facing the window as the bed bounces slightly from an added weight.

He stares, doe eyed at Jinyoung, like the man might disappear if he looks away for even the briefest moment. 

And Jinyoung stares back, eyes slit. Like the eyes of a cat, it cuts through, draws you in, like he knows something Jackson doesn’t want him knowing.

But he already does, knows everything Jackson wants to tell him.

_It’s only on the surface that we’re not quite the same._

_-_

The sound of the alarm blares through his ears. A steady, unyielding electronic beep from the phone. Much like its owner, it slowly buries itself deep into his ears, into his mind, pulling him out of his subconscious state of comfort and bliss.

He hates getting up in the morning, the stale taste in his mouth, the dull ache that arises in his head.

The way reality often doesn’t quite live up to the haze of his dreams. It leaves him empty and bare when he’s awake, when it hits him how real those brief illusions in the dark of the night felt.

Or maybe he’s just not quite a morning person, he thinks.

The sound of the alarm. Perfectly timed. Unyielding to his desire for more sleep. It provokes a frustrated noise from his throat as he flips over on his belly, sprawling out across the entire bed. The duvet hugs him nice and tight. Soft and warm. A fuzzy kind of warm, the kind that makes you feel safe.

He sends out a hand scrambling about blindly across his bedside table, eyes heavily lidded, grasping onto the phone. And with a laboured reach, he finally manages somehow to flick the alarm off with an excessively heavy thud of a finger. There’s a clatter.

It might have slipped off the table.

Doesn’t matter. Not his, anyway. And somehow, that makes it even more annoying.

A loud click of the steam kettle reaching its boil from just outside the room, now silent, probes him awake. Then the sounds of metal clinking against glass grow more apparent.

There’s a shaft of light partially falling upon his bed, through the wide crack of the door left open on purpose. In a room otherwise painted dark, with the veil of his curtains.

A heady brew begins to waft through the door too.

It eventually gets him up.

Gets him out.

Only for him to sink right back into his couch. With only his boxers and a tank top on, he nods off again until Jinyoung comes into the living room with two mugs.

“You hungry?”, Jinyoung asks.

“A little.” Jackson tries to sit up, scratching into the thick shadow of his jaw. He’s really not a morning person at all.

“What’s good around here?”, Jinyoung places them down on a pair of coasters Jackson never even noticed he had.

“Brisket stew was pretty good, wasn’t it?”, Jackson says, staring blankly into the faded cup rings on the edges of the coffee table.

“It was quite nice.", Jinyoung nods, sticking out a plump lip for a pout, patting about the knitted pockets on his cream coloured cardigan.

"Is it open yet?”

“I don’t know.”, he replies after pretending to be in thought. Voice, rough and thick. He doesn’t realise he’s alone in the living room right then. And he never does, because Jinyoung quickly reappears, face glued to a lit screen.

He’s got a couple of unread messages. Some dating back weeks. He’ll get around to it eventually. There’s one that catches his eye. He smiles. But he doesn’t open it.

“We’ve got some time today. Want to go work out later?”

Jinyoung nods. “We should. I think Yugyeom and Mark will too.”, he says, opting to open up a groupchat message instead.

Jackson hums.

“It’s cold. I want a blanket.”, Jackson says out loud. To no one in particular.

“Why don’t you put some actual clothes on instead.”, Jinyoung tells him, not looking up from his phone.

“I want a blanket.”, Jackson says again. A low rasp, strung out like a whine.

"Alright, alright.", Jinyoung chuckles.

And Jackson has a brief thought. A thought without thinking.

It might be what the sweetness of honey sounds like if it exists.

He pulls at the wool throw tossed into his face, wrapping himself up with satisfying curl into Jinyoung’s side, who’s plopped down by his side on the couch.

“It’s already open.”, Jinyoung says, putting down his phone and his glasses right by the untouched mugs, leaning back into the couch as he shuts his eyes. “Brisket stew, I mean. It’s open.”

“Is it.”, Jackson just murmurs into the warmth of a shoulder.

It’s still early. It’s early enough for breakfast. Though, they’ll probably end up leaving around noon.

This much, Jinyoung’s noticed over the years.

So he just lets himself drift off too.

It’s still early. The morning sun’s just peeking in, droplets of rain glistening across the window like the stars in the darkened skies. Though, neither of them noticed.

That it rained all night. An early spring rain.

Because the windows were sealed shut. Nothing could seep in. The curtains were drawn in. Nothing could be seen. Not a knock on the window pane, not the slightest bit of sound. As gentle as the fall of Jinyoung’s lips, breathless upon his. It was just gentle rain falling.

_\----_


End file.
